


Silence All Around the Throne Where Saints Had Often Trod

by realpoutydadsurvives (collettephinz)



Series: Once More With Chris [5]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Dissociation, M/M, PTSD, Piers Nivans if you look closely enough, Resident Evil: Degeneration, blink and you might miss him, description of panic attacks, mentions of child abuse, traumatic apathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/realpoutydadsurvives
Summary: He’d failed, he’d failed, he’d failed. The stupid paper, the summons on his table, he’d failed to escape, he’d failed to keep all of his men alive. Leon had brought only two people in because that had been the only feasible way for him to keep the number of infected down, it had been the only way for him to be able to keep his entire team safe, and yet he couldn’t even manage that. Only two people and still— still. He’d lost someone. Why couldn’t he do anything right?You did your best, Leon.A treacherous voice whispered inside his head, the same one that had insisted he was only a single person, a voice sounding damningly like Chris. Leon’s eyes were drawn back to Claire far ahead and wished it was the other Redfield here with him, regardless of the circumstances.(kinda coda to Resident Evil Degeneration with angsty chreon thrown in)





	Silence All Around the Throne Where Saints Had Often Trod

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GUYS DID YOU KNOW PIERS NIVANS WAS ENLISTED IN ARMYSF IN 2005 AND THAT HARVARDVILLE AIRPORT WAS IN 2005 AND THERE WAS A TRANSLATION ERROR AND IT'S ACTUALLY ARMYSF THAT SHOWS UP TO CLEAR OUT THE AIRPORT AND SINCE ARMYSF ISN'T A HUGE THING JUDGING BY THE AMOUNT OF SOLDIERS THAT SHOWED UP ITS BASICALLY IMPOSSIBLE THAT NEWLY ENLISTED SOLDIERS WEREN'T BROUGHT IN OUT OF NECESSITY AND THAT ESSENTIALLY THERE'S A DAMN GOOD CHANCE PIERS NIVANS WAS ACTUALLY AT THE HARVARDVILLE AIRPORT OUTBREAK
> 
> alright i'm done
> 
> thank you capcom for leaving dots for me to connect
> 
> also i switched the happenings of Degeneration and Revelations sorry sorry it just works better i promise i won't do it again <3

_To Leon S. Kennedy_

_A lawsuit has been filed against you._

_Within 21 days after service of this summons on you (not counting the day you received it)— or sixty days if you are the United States or a United states agency, or an officer or employee of the United States described in Fed. R. Civ. P. 12(a)(2) or (3)— you must serve on the plaintiff an answer to the attached complaint or motion under Virginia Code Ann. 20-88 (Michie 2000) under Rule 12 of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. The answer or motion must served be on the plaintiff or plaintiff’s attorney, whose name(s) is:_

_Ramona and Leon Kennedy._

_If you fail to respond, judgement by default will be entered against you for the relief demanded in the complaint. You must file your answer or motion with the court._

If Leon could throw himself off a bridge, he would.

The piece of innocuous paper, a court summons that had found its way into his mailbox just this morning, was still sitting on his table back in D.C. like it hadn’t just ruined Leon’s life in a way no single person had achieved thus far. Just white paper and black ink with the seal at the bottom of it, signed by the clerk of court and deputy clerk, just like everything other report or memo or letter Leon had received, and yet this one had brought his shaky foundation crumbling to the ground. This one piece of paper had taken it all from Leon and he found himself unable to feel anything but broken.

The past year had been terrible— coming off of Spain, off of Chris, telling himself that being alone would be the same as always because it wasn’t like anything had changed. He’d been alone before, he was alone, now, he would handle it like he always did and yet— And yet it was _worse_ , because now he knew Chris wanted him at his side too, and denying the kindred desire was torture in the worst way. 

And Sherry was heading into her senior year, Leon was going to miss her graduation, he was going to miss exploring colleges and Sherry finding a dormitory and helping her move and become an adult and Leon—

He’d _dreamed_ of doing all of those things with her, had been forcing himself into an endless grind of op after op so he’d be under good regard when he started asking for vacation days to go with her, he’d been molding his life around working himself to the bone so he could be there for the moments that had meant so much to him when thinking about her future, but now it was gone, everything was fucking gone, Chris, Sherry, everything good in his life was just gone and Leon was barely standing as it had been, and now with this—

He’d looked up those codes, he knew what they were. Filial Responsibility wasn’t shared across the fifty states, and Leon was technically a resident of Washington D.C., a district separate from Virginia, but even just the summons would have to be battled in person at a court. He couldn’t get a lawyer to represent him without bringing all of his dirty laundry into the open, all of the secrets he’d worked so hard to hide. Chris was the only person who knew about his parents’ abuse and it was going to stay that way. 

But now this, this fucking _bullshit,_ Filial Responsibility Leon’s ass. He knew his parents were more than likely in just as much financial ruin as they’d been when he’d ran away, but surely they didn’t think they had the grounds to sue Leon. Too much time had passed and Leon would have strong grounds of protest with the implications of abuse if he could wrangle up witnesses from years ago for. Leon didn’t have to financially support his parents, he could make such a solid argument in court, but that would mean _having to appear in court_ with his parents present and he couldn’t do that, he wasn’t strong enough, he would rather face down an army of monsters than see his parents ever again.

Leon already knew what he was going to do and that was why he felt indescribably empty. He’d cried his heart out years ago and had had nothing left in him the past year. The harmless paper on his table back home was what had finally snapped Leon’s last dredge of emotional existence. Everything was empty. His chest felt weightless in a way that scared him. Breathing was a slow and manual process. He barely felt the burn of his eyes as he didn’t even blink, his mouth a permanent downturn of exhaustion, his brow pinched. He sat ramrod straight in the helicopter that was taking him to Harvardville airport to handle an outbreak under President Graham’s order with the Anti-Virus Weapon Protocol No. 7600. He knew he should be afraid, but Leon S. Kennedy was nothing except absolutely empty. He stared into nothing and was too desolate to even be terrified of the emptiness in his carcass. 

“Agent Kennedy?”

It took a long second for Leon to drag his eyes from where he was staring across the hold into the pilot cockpit. When he finally did, he saw the soldier sitting beside him, Army Special Forces, one of the first to be deployed into this mess, and the first of a lot more to come. Leon knew that once he got the survivors out of the airport, SF would be making a clean sweep and handle whatever disaster was inside. They’d all been vaccinated with the vaccine courtesy of WilPharma, though Leon hadn’t, and they were all about to descend into hell. Leon just needed to clean out the survivors and turn his back so he wouldn’t have to see any of these brave soldiers die, the man beside him one of many. 

The man himself was a little older than Leon with an even expression and wise eyes that shined on Leon like he knew exactly what had crumbled away in Leon’s chest. “I’m Adam Benford,” the man told Leon, holding out a gloved hand, all of the gear making this man seem bulky and huge when Leon was sure he wasn’t much bigger than Leon himself. It had been hard for Leon to convince himself to eat lately. He was operating at the bare minimum and he knew it showed in the sharp angles of his face. His leather jacket hid away how slim his waist had become. If Chris saw Leon now, he’d probably be horrified. 

Leon took the hand. “Good to meet you.” It was a formality and only that, Leon didn’t feel good about a god damn thing. The man already knew his name, after all, what did Leon have to offer but his acknowledgement? How this Benford knew Leon in the first place was beyond him. Leon wasn’t exactly a well-known person in his line of work. USSTRATCOM was special ops and Leon even more _special._ Hell, how had his parents gotten his address? How had they discovered his existence? Leon wasn’t an official person in any line of the government work, _how hard they found him?_ The question had Leon’s blood running cold. He swallowed it down and felt emptier still.

“Good to meet you too,” Adam Benford— Master Sergeant Benford, according to the patches on his shoulder— said with a kind smile. “I was wondering if you’d like to maybe grab a beer or something once this is over. I have something I want to talk about with you.”

Leon—

“Is that so,” Leon asked neutrally. “I’m sure you could bring that up with my superiors.”

“I have a feeling your superiors aren’t exactly the type to listen to someone like me.”

So M. Sgt. Benford had something very specific and possibly even sensitive in mind. This meant that M. Sgt. Benford knew Leon in official capacity, knew what Leon did and what he handled. Did the man want Leon to reach out to President Graham? Or was there something else? Leon ground his teeth and told himself he could be used by just about anyone if he wanted. 

“It’s nothing serious,” M. Sgt. Benford said in a soothing tone like he could see the walls Leon was struggling to keep standing in his eyes. “You look like you’ve been through hell. It’s something that doesn’t sit well with me and I have a couple plans in mind that… well, I’m going to try and change the future, to put it simply.” That kind smile never left. “Don’t worry, Agent. You won’t be put in any sort of trouble for this. Just grab a beer with me once everything is said and done.”

Leon stared into him. “I’ll think about it.”

The helicopter landed and Leon dropped out of the hold before M. Sgt. Benford could say anything else. What had the man wanted to talk about? What did he mean by changing the future? Why the fuck should Leon even care? The bright future was for everyone else, not for him. He was the person who fought for the future but never reaped the reward. As Leon strode through the quarantine camp for where he would be meeting the SRT members who would be aiding Leon in clearing out the airpot, he decided that whatever Benford wanted to do for him wouldn’t happen. Not for Leon. Never for Leon. 

His throat squeezed itself shut beyond his own volition as he thought of the paper on his table back home. He stood outside the tent and gave himself a moment to regain control. He heard voices.

“That explains why the State Board of Health hauled ass to get here so fast. What do you think the suits are trying to cover up?” A man, his voice a little cracked like he’d spent a lot of his youth screaming angrily into his pillow case.

“If I knew that, I'd have a hell of a lot more clout. The White House sent a special agent to handle this mess. He ought to be here soon. You can ask him.” A woman, controlled and strained with frustration. He didn’t know for sure who either of them were, but he could safely assume the woman was Angela Miller, Captain of the SRT. They both sounded older than him and he knew already he was going to have a rough time. He knew how he looked. 

Leon pulled open the flaps of the tent and stood in the entrance to say, “Ask all you like, but honestly, there’s nothing to discuss on the subject.”

Both eyes shot to him and Leon looked them over, recognizing. The man was Greg Clenn, second in command in SRT, and Leon been right to assume the other was Angela Miller. She looked like she’d been pulled of a date, her makeup and brown hair done to an almost professional level and definitely not standard for the operation she’d been thrown into. Her eyes landed on Leon with immediate defiance. “Who the hell are you?”

Leon kept his expression dead. “I’m Leon S. Kennedy.”

“Then,” Angela Miller said slowly, something like disbelief dawning as she looked him over and realized exactly who and what he was. “You’re the one…”

“What’s the situation.”

Angela turned from him, her expression visibly slipping into something more professional. She turned to the laptop in front of her and clicked around at a few things, Leon coming to her side and leaning over to get a better view. “This is one of the 911 calls that was made.”

_“How many are alive?”_

_“Four, including me. One’s wounded. The senator.”_

Leon— knew that voice. His throat went dry but he still didn’t feel a damn thing as the corners of his mind brought a face to his mind, a brave woman telling him to take care of himself across a fence in the middle of an apocalypse. Why couldn’t he feel something?

_“Can you give me your location?”_

_“We’re in the VIP lounge, west end of the arrivals lobby. Listen, I don’t know how long we can hold up. Send help now before those things get at us. Please hurry.”_

Claire fucking Redfield— ever the the resolute protector, taking in survivors and keeping everyone safe. Leon felt sick to know she was in the thick of this again, had hoped she would be safer when working within TerraSave, but it seemed neither of them were any sort of lucky these days. Leon wondered how Chris—

“Most likely, that call came from here,” Angela said as she pulled out a maintenance blueprint of the airport for Leon to see. “We believe they’re in the VIP lounge for Atmos Airlines. Right now, the airport police and State Board of Health are the first responders. They’ve completely shut down the main entrance here—” She pointed at the map with her words. “— And the two side entrances here and here. There are no other routes into the terminal building. We believe our best bet is to fly in by helicopter and enter through the roof. The team should be compromised—”

No way. “I’ll take the two of you,” Leon interrupted firmly. “No one else.”

“What?” Angela asked. “Why?”

“Because I don’t care to risk increasing the number of infectees,” Leon replied coldly, feeling like he shouldn’t have to explain this. He was in charge, he was the one giving orders, why couldn’t people just see past how he looked and recognize him for the authority figure he was? Maybe they’d listen to a threat. “You don’t want to be forced to shoot your friends, do you?”

“Hey, hey, hold on a second—”

“You can’t be serious—”

Just fucking listen to him, _why did no one listen—_

Leon left the tent quickly, needing the space all of a sudden as a wave of something came over him, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest, his hands shaking, but he was fine, it wasn’t showing on his face so he was fine. He stood outside the tent in the cool air and clenched his teeth, breathing through it. He calmed down eventually, compartmentalizing, that paper on his table burning into his retinas and Claire’s voice echoing in his ears. He needed to get it together. He needed to rescue the survivors and save Claire. 

Inside, they were still talking. 

“Who does this guy think he is? He doesn’t look military.”

“He’s the special agent assigned to this incident,” Angela said with a long suffering sigh. “Let’s just… see what he can do.”

A grim expression twisted Leon’s face, something wrong and unlike himself, something that reminded him of his mother, something that didn’t belong on his face. These people would see what he can do. They’d see exactly what he was capable of whether they wanted to or not. And then they’d never see Leon as anything other than the trauma-hardened monster of an agent he’d become in the face of this new, oppressive _nothing._

. . .

The survivors burst through the doors of the airport, Claire already far ahead with Rani held in her arms, the scene reminiscent of Raccoon City and Sherry so much that Leon couldn’t actually look at them for too long. Claire had grown a lot, become a strong woman beyond a college student that probably had only needed his rescue simply because she hadn’t had a gun. Leon wished Claire would carry a firearm on her— god knew she’d be able to get the carry license with her history in Raccoon City— so she’d never be caught in a situation like this again. Even when not on an op, Leon was always concealed carrying with his badge in his back pocket in case anyone asked. He needed the gun to feel safe. The fact that it was Rot, the fact that it was the only physical part of Chris he still had, didn’t mean anything. 

Leon glanced back and saw Angela Miller was the last to leave the airport. He had a hunch as to what she’d seen, her last glimpse of a dear friend turned into something else, something monstrous and inhuman. Leon kept his expression schooled and told himself it wasn’t his fault. Greg had been protecting the survivors he’d gone in to save. Leon had already made a shot to save the man’s life, he’d done what he could— but couldn’t he have made a second? 

No, it wasn’t—

Leon wasn’t at fault, not really, he couldn’t save everyone, he was one person. Just because Angela Miller had lost someone and Leon had been the one in charge of their safety didn’t mean it was his fault, he’d—

He’d failed, he’d failed, he’d failed. The stupid paper, the summons on his table, he’d failed to escape, he’d failed to keep all of his men alive. Leon had brought only two people in because that had been the only feasible way for him to keep the number of infected down, it had been the only way for him to be able to keep his entire team safe, and yet he couldn’t even manage that. Only two people and still— still. He’d lost someone. Why couldn’t he do anything right?

_You did your best, Leon._

A treacherous voice whispered inside his head, the same one that had insisted he was only a single person, a voice sounding damningly like Chris. Leon’s eyes were drawn back to Claire far ahead and wished it was the other Redfield here with him, regardless of the circumstances. Chris would never be caught dead without a gun and he’d never take someone like the Senator sitting down. But— that wasn’t fair to Claire. She meant something to Leon, she was important, he should be happy to see her at all. Or was it wrong to be happy to see her because it meant he was happy she was in the midst of another apocalypse?

Soldiers rushed past Leon as he approached the first line of defense, more of the Army Special Forces lined up to keep the infected from getting beyond the airport. Leon really wanted to commend the intelligence behind this entire operation. He wished there’d been something like this for every shit fest he’d handled these past seven years. Hardened men ready to do whatever it took to keep the rest of the world safe, capable and well-informed and vaccinated. Leon passed a Humvee and saw a soldier laid out across the roof of the vehicle, a young man with a faux hawk, the Mechem NTW-20 rifle in his hands trained on the glass doors of the airport, and— his bright, brown eyes on Leon. 

Leon met the man’s gaze and wondered how old he was. _Too_ young, without a doubt, probably recently enlisted, but brought here for the sheer emergency of the circumstances. The man— almost a kid, really— stared at Leon with unbridled curiosity. Leon tore his eyes away and walked past without a word. 

Behind him, gunshots sounded as Special Forces moved in, ready to make quick work of the disaster inside.

“Rani!” 

A woman’s shout came from the fence line and Leon turned just in time to watch the tearful reunion of Rani and her aunt through the chainlink fence, men and women in hazmat keeping them apart because infection was still a fear. Claire ran after the little girl after having slapped the Senator across the face— which was highly fucking illegal, but Leon wasn’t going to arrest her for it and neither would any of the soldiers— going down on her knees and assuring the aunt that Rani was fine, everything was fine, once they got Rani cleared of all signs of infection they’d be reunited, everything was going to be okay—

Leon tore his eyes from the sight to stop himself from thinking of Sherry and aching desperately to be with his daughter who he’d never see again. Instead, he looked back to the airport, wishing he could be with those soldiers clearing it out, wanting to be back in the blood thirst of adrenaline, the mundane problems of his humanity leagues away, filled with only the sensation of Rot in his hand and the warmth of fellow warriors at his side. Nothing but the fight, only the fight, nothing but life and death and fear. 

Angela watched on as well, and Leon wondered if she wanted to be in the airport to join the fight, or wanted to be in there to try and save Greg. He wondered if she knew that there really was no hope. He watched her hand curl into a fist and felt sorry for her.

_You’re getting lost in your head, Leon._

Leon broke away from the survivors, needing space, needing to not be around so much emotion when he was still struggling to feel something at all. He hadn’t even felt afraid in the airport and he knew the lack of emotion had been obvious on his blank face. Maybe that was why the young soldier had stared so obviously at Leon. Maybe he’d been bewildered by how unaffected Leon was by everything, including the overwhelming undead. 

Leon found a quiet, isolated spot amongst the tents and pulled out his communicator, ringing his contact in the FOS. When she answered, Leon forced a warmth to his voice, reminding himself he was supposed to care about others, even through this— this absolute _nothing_ that he couldn’t seem to fight. 

“Hey, Hannigan,” he murmured, voice lowered for privacy. “I’m reporting in.”

 _“I already heard,”_ Hannigan replied. _“Special Forces landed in the nick of time and saved the day. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”_

So Leon wasn’t officially on this— good to know. “I’m amazed and impressed you got authorization for that,” he said. “You must have pulled a few strings.

 _“I have my resources,”_ Hannigan replied. _“After I received confirmation from the USAMRIID that the virus used in this attack was indeed the T-virus, I submitted a plan to the president. He pushed it through as a special emergency act. Every soldier involved in the assault was vaccinated.”_

Leon nodded, appreciating the efficiency. As this call went on, though, his ability to keep something remotely human in his expression faded. His work mindset overtook him. Professionalism became his mask. “Have the terrorists made any demands?”

 _“No, not yet,”_ Hannigan denied. _“But the FBI captured a member of General Grande’s army in Los Angeles just moments ago. When we interrogate him, he might give us some information that’ll, um, establish a link between this terrorist attack and the one in India.”_

Leon nodded again. “Then maybe we’ll finally dig up a lead on the whereabouts of former Umbrella Corporation employees. They’ve gotta be the ones peddling the virus on the black market.”

 _“Affirmative,”_ Hannigan said. _“And Leon— you should know the BSAA has made an official statement regarding the Harvardville infection incident.”_

That— 

Okay.

“And that would be…”

_“BSAA Captain Chris Redfield has stated in representation for the BSAA that they are wishing the US Government would be more open to military aid from exterior governments and has expressed a desire to have been able to be brought in to help combat this infection incident.”_

Chris—

Leon clenched his jaw shut and didn’t say a word, the name ringing harshly in his ears like the scrape of nails. Chris wished he could help. Wasn’t that just like the man. Always volunteering, always extending a helping hand, always wanting to be the one to take the gauntlet and carry the weight so others wouldn’t have to. Did Chris know Leon was here? How could he? Hannigan had made it clear that Leon wasn’t the one who would be credited for any sort of success in this incident. Ghost Operative and only that. Would Chris have forgone the rules of no foreign soldiers on US territory if he’d known Leon was here? Would he have broken the law? Would he have given up so much for Leon?

The answer was already known to Leon and he hated it.

_“After your work with him in Spain, I felt it was appropriate to let you know.”_

Leon wished she hadn’t told him.

“I’m surprised he’d want in on something so soon after the Terragrigia Panic,” Leon thought aloud numbly. Attempts to estimate the number of dead after the three-week-long crisis were met with desolate faces and exhausted failures. “He needs a vacation.”

Onscreen, Hannigan schooled her expression. Leon knew she didn’t know a damn thing about Leon’s past with Chris, but Hannigan was also smart. She could easily connect the dots. Leon’s shoulders gradually slumped as he felt haunted by the memories of that hotel in Spain. _“Leon,”_ Hannigan called out carefully. _“I was informed you requested after the possibility of attorney representation and your name has pinged in the judicial sector of the state of Virginia. As you know, with your status as a secret government agent, your name isn’t public access. You know that we must be made aware of any threats to national security through use of your identity. What are you—”_

Leon abruptly ended the call on pure reflex, the names Ramona and Leon burning behind his eyelids. He stared owlishly at the screen of the communicator, barely remembering ending the call at all. The communicator flashed with the alert of Hannigan’s name, signaling she was trying to call him back. Leon turned off the device entirely and tucked it away, staring at the ground, breathing slowly and mechanically and still feeling nothing at all. Why couldn’t he feel something? _Why couldn’t he feel something?_

“What the hell is going on?”

Claire’s righteously furious voice broke Leon from his apathy. He left the seclusion of the tents and followed the sound of Claire’s anger, passing Angela and catching her eye, seeing the woman was also seeking out the source of the raised voices. They didn’t say anything, and as Leon came up on the line of WilPharma trucks that he knew would be bringing in the rest of the vaccine for the people in quarantine, he saw Claire arguing with the Senator, saw Frederick Downing standing quietly, and realized what was happening.

“You thought that was WilPharma-engineered, didn’t you?” Congressman Davis drawled, looking as high-and-mighty as usual. The man laughed. “Utterly ridiculous. An inoculation. That’s what they’ve been working on. A way to prevent further outbreaks.”

Claire shook her head like she couldn’t believe it. “But—”

“Claire, it’s true,” Leon said as he approached the scene, still unable to bring a flicker of emotion to his face. Hopefully she’d listen to him simply by how serious he was being, whether he wanted it or not. Claire looked to him and stormed forward, eyes wild.

“You knew?” she asked.

“Yes,” Leon affirmed. “I didn’t think its use would be sanctioned this quickly.” And Claire didn’t have the clearance to be privy to this information. None of these people did, not really. Vaccine development was top secret to protect the vaccines themselves, Leon couldn’t share the information with anyone. Not even Hannigan knew the innermost workings of the vaccination development— she only knew what she needed to know.

Angela Miller rounded Leon, her jaw slackening with something like shock.

“Then the human testing that took place in India…”

“An attack by terrorists that somehow got hold of the T-virus,” Leon explained for Claire, wanting to give whatever he could because she deserved to know _something._ “All of the terrorist groups supported by General Grande were infected, so we don’t know the details. The US government obtained permission from the appropriate Indian authorities to administer the T-virus vaccine to the nearby communities.” He looked into Claire’s eyes and begged her to understand why he couldn’t have told her. “A vaccine secretly developed by WilPharma. It was a success. The infection rate was kept as minimal as possible.”

Angela suddenly stepped forward. “Why the hell didn’t you break out the vaccine for this?” she demanded, taking Leon by the front of his jacket and—

Cigarettes, a horrible smile, cold, the oppressive cold, the letter on his table with the names of the only two monsters Leon had never been brave enough to fight, hold still, Leon, if he did as they said, if he didn’t talk back, if he didn’t make a sound they’d lose interest and leave him bleeding and bruised and he’d survive another—

“If we’d been inoculated before we entered the terminal, Greg would still—”

“Inoculation would’ve been entirely possible had TerraSave not backed us into an adversarial corner.”

As Downing stepped forward, Claire and Angela looking to listen to the man, Angela still holding Leon by the lapels, Leon didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, didn’t even breathe. He stared straight ahead and pretended he didn’t exist so he wouldn’t be hurt. 

“Had we been able of follow proper procedure as outlined in the original schedule,” Downing explained. “The government medical stockpile could have been shipped anywhere in the US within twelve hours.”

“Oh my god,” Claire breathed, shaking her head again, this time in horror. “Then… it’s all our fault.”

The Congressman sauntered up to stand beside Claire, arrogance dripping from his wrinkled face. “I wouldn’t argue with you there,” he said, and awfully enough, Leon couldn’t argue either.

Angela finally let go of Leon and Leon just—

Stupid. He’d been stupid. Giving in to old instincts and getting stuck in his head. Angela Miller had had no right to manhandle him like that, regardless of authority. No human had any right to just grab someone like that unprovoked. But it didn’t matter, Leon was used to receiving the backlash of anger from people that felt like he was to blame. Still. He shouldn’t have gotten lost like that. He should have stood up for himself. Chris would’ve wanted him to stand up for himself just as Chris had wanted Leon to stand up to Ada back in that cable car, seven years ago. Leon clenched his jaw and wondered what could be said next. 

Claire suddenly turned and stumbled away, though, grief obvious in her eyes. And that was honestly a good thing. It made Leon’s next line of action easy. It was second nature to follow the woman, knowing exactly what had to be going through her mind and—

Well, wait, had he spoken to her alone ever since Raccoon City? She’d never sought him out. Leon knew she was seeing Sherry on the regular, the luckiest of them both. Would Claire want Leon to console her? That didn’t really matter, did it? Claire wouldn’t listen to anyone else.

He found her sitting in a chair in one of the tents, her head held in her hands, slumped forward in defeat. The poor woman looked so tired and defeated. She heard him coming and stared at the floor. “We just ended up making things worse,” she whispered.

“That’s not true,” Leon replied evenly, standing like a statue at the tent entrance, keeping close to the flaps in case— in case of what? In case he needed to escape? Run? Claire wouldn’t ever… would she hurt him? Angela nearly had, Claire could too. He swallowed hard. “The villains here are the ones who use the virus. But worse than them are the ones who made it.”

Claire looked away from him.

“Seven years ago, our lives were changed forever,” Leon reminded her. “By the virus from Umbrella Corp. Umbrella collapsed… but their viral legacy continues to spread.” Stop thinking about Raccoon City, stop thinking about Chris, why couldn’t Leon stop thinking about Chris? He shuddered minutely and told Claire, “I’m gonna scrub this virus from the face of the earth.” And that—

Nothing.

Leon had hoped that remembering the hatred he felt for the careless waste of life would bring something back into him, but there was still _nothing._

Claire looked up at him. Her brow was pinched. She knew something was wrong with him. Leon thought quickly for a way to get her attention off of him and his dead eyes. “You chose the role of rescuer, rather than fighter like me,” he said. And then he forced himself to keep breathing as he continued to say, “You chose a path that your brother and I couldn’t follow.”

The flare of something in Claire’s eyes told him she didn’t miss the way Leon couldn’t say Chris’s name.

“You weren’t wrong,” Leon assured her, praying she wouldn’t ask. “You did what was right, exactly as we have. You just chose just to do it in a different way.”

“Leon,” Claire said carefully, visibly avoiding what Leon clearly wanted to avoid. She settled on a quiet, “Thank you.” Then she paused. “… Chris asks about you.”

Leon’s throat slammed shut.

Outside, a huge explosion of light and sound and destruction shook the ground and Leon thanked god for the distraction. He bounded from the tent, saw Angela facing the billowing wall of fire, felt Angela’s eyes land solely on him, and knew she was losing focus like he so often did. Leon put an arm at her back to break her back to reality and the three of them sprinted for the explosion, the despair of something else going wrong not even touching Leon’s uninvited indifference.

. . .

“Bad to worse” didn’t even come close to describing the situation. The loss of the vaccine, the emergence of the man behind the terrorist attack on Harvardville Airport revealed to be Angela’s brother, the explosion in the WilPharma dome with Claire inside, the G-virus just back in the world like it was the end of all things— everything was fucking awful and Leon still _couldn’t feel a damn thing._

He was scared.

Not of the situation, but of himself. It felt like something had honestly and genuinely and truly broken inside of him and he was terrified that it might not ever be fixed. Was it going to be like this forever? Was he going to be an empty shell for the rest of his life? Maybe that soldier back at the airport hadn’t been staring at Leon with curiosity at Leon’s lack of emotion— maybe it had been _horror._ Maybe he’d thought Leon was a monster for being so unaffected and Leon— Leon couldn’t help but agree.

What was wrong with him?

_Chris, help me._

“You’re not alone,” Leon had told Angela. “We’re together in this.” He wished she’d said the same back, because he hadn’t felt this abandoned in months and he wanted the feeling to ebb. Electricity crackled above him as he swept the ruined building, LED lights hanging from the ceiling and the rooms and floor and walls crumbled. He held Rot up, searching for any survivors or attackers, approached an elevator that appeared to still be in working condition, and found—

_“Leon.”_

Claire.

She was supporting herself with a curtain rod, groaning in pain, then leaning her weight against a nearby wall. Leon cleared the area around her with a quick sweep of his sights and then tucked Rot away, going down on his knee as she slumped to the floor. “What happened?” he demanded sharply, his voice pitched with urgency and something worse, something he couldn’t feel beyond a tightness in his chest. Claire was injured, there was blood in her clothes, he didn’t know the infection rate in this place, what if something had bit her? His eyes scanned for any sort of damning marks and found nothing, but the relief didn’t alleviate the painful clench in his chest cavity. “Where’s Frederick?”

“He was telling me about a time bomb when—” Claire’s relay was cut off by a horrible grunt of agony, her eyes squeezed shut to cope. Leon gave the leg injury a longer look, almost wishing it wasn’t bandaged so he could access the severity. Above, Claire impossibly smiled. “Some glass,” she told Leon. “Not much compared to getting _shot_ like you, though.”

The callback had Leon grimacing reflexively. “That’s a nasty wound anyways,” he said, reaching for her. “We gotta get you out—”

“I’m alright, listen to me!” Claire snapped, slapping Leon’s hands away, Leon rearing back, expression suddenly dead again. He stared down at Claire and shoved down all of the panic and fear like she wanted him to, even as the cruel laughter of his mother echoed in his ears. “Curtis was here,” she told Leon urgently. “I saw him. He came out of level four where the G-virus was kept.” She grunted in pain again and that—

Not that again, not the G-virus, the ruined Doctor Birkin stumbling through the underground, groaning in agony, the remnants of Leon’s childhood brought surging back to the present, how he needed to keep light on his feet, needed to be faster than his opponent, needed to ignore their words, needed to survive—

“We need to get you to safety,” Leon said, tearing through the overwhelming fear, the smell of cigarettes that hadn’t plagued him in years, the black words on white paper glaring into him, the sharp glint of teeth in a cruel smile, Krauser, oh god, why was he remembering Krauser—

“Here,” Leon said, his voice mechanical like his movements, his robotic expression a sharpened contrast to the sudden hurricane of dread and panic inside of his collapsing lungs. He put Claire’s arm over his shoulder and wished it was Chris, then hated himself for wishing that at all, because Chris didn’t deserve to be put into another hell. No one did, not Claire, not Chris, not Angela, not the soldier with the bright, curious eyes. None of them deserved to be here and yet they were because Leon wasn’t good enough to take out the virus at the source, he wasn’t good enough to finish things for good when they started, he wasn’t good enough for anyone or anything, not Chris, not Krauser, not even his parents, _his own parents couldn’t love him_ , how could he expect anyone else to love someone his own parents couldn’t?

He brought Claire to the elevator and selected down rather than up, knowing she’d make it out safely if she took the underground tunnels and maintenance. Claire leaned heavily into him and laughed breathlessly. “Can’t say this is how I imagined meeting you again.” When Leon didn’t respond— couldn’t, he couldn’t fucking breathe right— Claire continued. “Sherry misses you a lot, you know—”

“Stop talking.”

Claire looked to him with a sharp gaze, and Leon didn’t dare even blink. The words hadn’t been his choice to say, an instinctive, gut reaction to protect himself, like flinching away from a blow. Claire read him like an open book, which was something Leon had thought only Chris could do. Redfield and Redfield, he supposed. Leon stared straight ahead, breathing slowly and purposefully as the ghost of a hand constricted around his throat, Krauser’s dead words ghosting across Leon’s clammy skin. Not enough, not enough, he wasn’t enough, and now Sherry—

The elevator dinged as they reached their floor. The doors opened and Leon brought up Rot, downing the zombies that reached for them with detachment. Heads popped and Leon felt like a murderer. Claire pulled herself from Leon, giving him the space to clear the area. The hall stretched down with pipes and exhaust and equipment and nothing else standing. “Go straight down this corridor,” Leon ordered sharply. He pulled his spare H&K, fully loaded, and handed it to the woman, who accepted the line of defense with a nod of gratitude. “Head to elevator D-2. It’ll take you to an outside exit.”

“Got it,” Claire said as she limped out of the elevator, double checking the sights.

“Claire,” Leon said as he hit the button to send the elevator back to Angela. She looked to Leon and Leon stared into her, feeling weary down to his bones, his chest still so painfully tight that he felt like he could cry. He looked into Claire and saw that same steadfast, stubborn resistance to death that he knew so intimately in her brother and yearned for someone who he had foolishly sent away. “Try not to get killed.”

“Okay,” Claire said as the elevator doors closed. Then, just before they shut completely, Claire winked at him with a disarming smile and said, “Ditto.”

The doors shut and Leon was left alone, the elevator ascending slowly. He took a step back and—

Something was wrong.

He blinked rapidly, felt that tightness still there even when it should be fading now that Clair was on her way to safety. She was smart, she was capable, she was strong, she’d survived worse for longer, Leon didn’t need to worry about her. Why did it hurt, why couldn’t he push past the anxiety welling beneath?

Leon shook himself lightly, heaved a manual breath, tried to re-center and find his control again. His hands started to shake around Rot and he looked at the useless appendages in something like disgust. Get it together, Kennedy, get it _fucking_ together, shaking hands missed shots and missed shots cost lives. If he didn’t get it together, people would fucking die and that was the only thing to it. He shuddered another breath and fought back against the smell of cigarettes that seemed to permeate the elevator box, the clothes on his body, the skin on his bones. There was something there, something inside of him that had nothing to do with what was happening now, something that wasn’t letting him—

That piece of paper on his table back home, the words staring up into him, damning him to face the monsters of his darkest nightmares after so many years of hiding.

Leon collapsed to the floor without warning, and suddenly any effort to breathe at all was useless. Painful gasps tore at his dry esophagus and he clutched at his throat, a broken whimper leaving him as the— the panic attack, a panic attack, a broken whimper left him as the panic attack settled in, unwelcome and horrible, the timing unable to be any worse, the state of his trembling body reducing him to a weak, helpless mess, a useless pile of skin and bones on the floor, the seconds ticking by as he stopped breathing and stopped existing and stopped being the capable agent he had to be, reverting back to the broken, terrified boy that hid under his bed and refused to make a sound as he was dragged down the stairs to the dark, to the box, to the cold—

Leon was so cold.

A scream broke into his senses and he realized, distantly, that it was him. Leon pulled at his hair, felt none of the dull pain, heard his mother screaming in his ear, heard his father calling him a failure, heard Krauser laughing as he fucked Leon, heard his death over and over and over with a hand around his throat. Everything was collapsing, everything was torn asunder. His veins splintered and broke apart, his thoughts bled away into mindless instinct of run and hide and keep quiet, don’t make a sound, if they hear him, he’s dead, if they find him, if they see him, if they catch him—

_On me, Leon._

Leon slammed his head back against the wall, the impact snapping his teeth into his tongue, blood blossoming across his palate. Leon gasped and trembled and blinked back tears of agony and fear. The panic attack was over as quickly as it had come. He found himself on the floor of the elevator that was still steadily rising, the compartment unaffected by Leon’s loss of self, the world still spinning, uncaring of how Leon’s had stopped. He pulled his hands carefully from his hair and thought of the fight before him, the monsters ahead and not behind, the people who were relying on him and needing his help. He refused to acknowledge the fact that a singular voice had broken him from his collapse. He knew exactly who that had been and he knew what it meant. He refused to cling to the crutch even if it was the only thing keeping him standing. Leon needed to be better. Chris deserved Leon being better.

The elevator pinged Leon’s arrival at the upper levels and he forced himself to his feet, pale and almost feverish, but still alive and no longer trapped in the hell his mind had created. Just a little longer and then he could disintegrate into his memories.

. . .

In the midst of the battle, Leon watched Angela reach in dazed horror towards the pool of blood that had once been the soldiers that had only been trying to make the world a little safer. Leon prayed that the bright-eyed young man wasn’t amongst the dead before her.

. . .

Just like that, in the space of another hellish night, it was over again. 

Leon felt like he was in a fog as he stared at Angela Miller, the purple-polka-dot dress billowing in the breeze, her curly, brown hair wafting delicately around her face. He didn’t know why she was dressed like this after everything they’d been through. Frederick Downing and been apprehended a mere few hours ago and Leon was as _tired_ as he always was after an operation that stretched long into the night. But Angela Miller seemed completely unfazed and he was almost envious of her. 

He wondered if she would continue the fight. If she would go BSAA or some other organization, maybe join Claire in TerraSave and choose the peaceful alternative since it had to be impossible to lift a gun again after battling her own brother. Now that she knew the truth— knew of WilPharma and General Grande and Curtis Miller’s sins and what the government had done in Raccoon City— he wondered if she would seek out vengeance or justice just like everyone else in this fight had done when faced with the new reality. Everyone but him.

Leon turned to leave, wanting to leave her in peace, allow her to mourn everything that had fallen apart even if she was wearing lavender and not black, but her voice called out to him as he made to depart. Leon obediently stopped, looking into her eyes and seeing a strong, determined woman who was ready to take on anything— but also seeing a piece of paper on his table, a summons, a death sentence, realizing that Angela Miller was the same height as his mother had been when she’d towered over him and dropped the freezer box lid on his head.

“Leon,” Angela Miller said, voice soft and beseeching. “Let’s go diving together again… sometime.”

The sharing of air, the moment when Leon had seen the woman would drown if he didn’t do something, giving his life for hers as long as it meant she would survive. She saw it— as a kiss. 

For a split second, Leon considered it. Considered doing as he’d done before, falling into another person to soothe the ache of loss, trying to find comfort in sex. Angela Miller wasn’t Jack Krauser, she wasn’t even physically capable of hurting Leon as Krauser had done, let alone psychologically or emotionally. Leon thought about it practically and wondered if it would be worth the risk of—

The summons on his table. 

He couldn’t bring anyone into that, even for something simple and temporary. And besides—

Angela Miller was an incredible woman, but she wasn’t Chris.

“Love to,” Leon said without offering his number or his address or any way to contact him before turning away again and leaving. Being a ghost operative had its perks. She’d never be able to find him. He trudged down the dirt path back towards the road, Claire— oh, Claire, Claire was with him, how had Leon forgotten bout Claire? 

She bent forward into his line of sight, smiling impishly. “When did you two go diving?” she asked, too bright and eager and curious. She knew about him and Chris, was she teasing to try and get information to report back to her brother or was she trying to help him?

Either way, Leon said, “Don’t worry about it,” and left it at that. “More importantly—” Because he’d forgotten her in a shattered few seconds and Claire was important, she was, she was, Leon couldn’t believe his mind had blocked her presence from his reality, she was important, she was— “What are you up to? Need a lift?” 

He jerked his head to the civilian helicopter that was waiting for him, a rinky-dink little thing of plastic and metal that he’d rather not climb into, wishing distantly that Mike were the one to fly him out of here, the skilled pilot always being a welcome sight when he wasn’t doting upon Ashley. The man’s Boston rambling would have been a preferable distraction to the emptiness in Leon’s head. But if Claire were there—

“Can’t,” Claire said, smiling apologetically as she cut her own chin back down the other side of the road. “I have a limousine to catch.” Leon squinted in the bright light and saw Rani with her aunt standing beside a nice looking car, both of them waving excitedly for Claire. Claire waved back, obviously eager to return to them. Leon swallowed down the fear of being alone after this.

“Claire,” he said as she started to turn to leave. Claire spun back to him, giving Leon her full attention. “Next time we bump into each other, let’s hope it’s someplace a little more normal.”

“Definitely,” Claire replied. “I’ll bring Chris.”

Leon’s breath caught in his throat and he took a step back reflexively. Claire sighed, shaking her head. “Or not,” she said. “You’re being idiots, but I guess you’re being smart about it too. Still— I don’t know what I would have done in your place.” Her expression became almost distant. “Chris isn’t— he’s upset. And I think he’s having a hard time trusting his people again. And I honestly can’t blame him.”

“Neither can I,” Leon said dully. 

“To be lied to like that,” Claire continued, looking away. “To lie to both of us.” Her mouth twisted into a grim line. “I thought you were safe, Leon. I really did.” She then looked back to him and met his eyes with a somber, yet firm gaze. “I’m sorry for believing them. I should have dug a little deeper.”

Leon shook his head, that fog coming again, his hands shaking as he heard whispers in the deepest crevices of his mind. His mother, father, Krauser, people that loved to see him hurt— he wondered if O’Brian and the others should be added to his list of people to run from. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “… Tell Chris I’m sorry too.”

“Don’t you think you’ve apologized enough to each other?”

“Not about this.”

Claire’s gaze became grim. “So you still love him too, huh?”

Leon had thought that Chris finally moving on would be the worst thing that could happen during their mutual separation— if anything, it was worse to know Chris still had feelings from him. “I can’t talk about this.”

“You couldn’t talk about Sherry either,” Claire said, always the smartest of them all. “And you haven’t been acting like yourself, Leon. I know it’s been seven years since we saw each other, but I’ve heard enough about Spain to know something’s wrong now.” She took a step towards him, filled with the blatant desire to help. “Is someone threatening you? Hurting you? Is that why you won’t go see Sherry? If something’s happening, Chris can—”

“I’m begging you to stop,” Leon blurted out, taking a step away, hunching his shoulders, staring at the ground because he couldn’t look into those soulful eyes for another second. His breath was coming too short and he was scared of another collapse like in the elevator. The sun was out, the monsters were gone, so why did he have to keep fighting? “I’m fine,” he lied, studying her shoes. “I am absolutely fine. And you can tell Chris that.” He swallowed hard. “Or don’t. Maybe telling him about me will only hurt him.”

“Chris knows you were sent here.”

Leon wasn’t surprised. Chris had made that statement, after all. “He’s keeping an eye on me, isn’t he?” If Chris had known, why hadn’t he come, why hadn’t he tried to rescue Leon from this— oh wait— that’s right. They’d agreed not to. They’d done this to themselves. Leon had done this to himself. And Leon hadn’t heard that precarious voice giving him imagined platitudes since the elevator. 

There was a hum of affirmation from above. Claire hadn’t tried to get any closer again and Leon was indebted to her for it. “Tell him I’m fine,” he said. “Even if you don’t think it’s the truth. Don’t make him worry, please. His job is dangerous.”

He finally had the courage to lift his head again and saw Claire was watching him with heartbreak on her face. Leon wet his lips. “And when you see Sherry again, tell her I love her.”

Claire nodded soberly. “Of course, Leon.”

Leon nodded his gratitude and took another step away, putting distance between himself and the things that could hurt him. “Be safe, Claire.”

“Until next time, Leon.”

Leon gave a short dip of his head and then turned on his heel, sprinting for the helicopter, pretending he had a schedule to keep and wasn’t just running away. He didn’t look back and climbed into the hold, letting someone push the protective ear-wear over his head, swallowing down an instinctual need to pull away from being touched and wishing he could just be fucking normal again without the names Ramona and Leon burning into his—

Leon sat down and looked up to see M. Sgt. Benford sitting across from him. The man smiled pleasantly at Leon and said, “How about that beer?”

Leon blinked slowly, the exhaustion settling in quickly, but— “Think I need something stronger.”

M. Sgt. Benford laughed and Leon fought to keep from flinching at the sound. He hated himself for the instincts that had been brought to the surface again. M. Sgt. Benford had been nothing but kind to him so far, even if it was a little suspicious that he knew who Leon was. But the older man wasn’t a lousy guy, as far as Leon could tell, and Leon didn’t have a bad feeling around him. And the idea of drinking after this night, the alcohol to quell the fear, but even more tempting, _not being alone_ —

“You got a place in mind?” Leon asked. He remembered M. Sgt. Benford had wanted to talk to him about something. “Maybe we can discuss whatever was on your mind, Master-Sergeant.”

“Call me Adam,” the man said with a gentle smile. “And that can wait. Politics are never very fun amongst friends. I think I’d rather just treat you to a drink and make sure you get home okay.”

Leon—

Was shaking again.

“Sure,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever you want.”

Adam Benford’s kind smile became pitying and Leon knew this man knew a lot more about him that he’d let on. When Leon would normally be on guard and even paranoid, he was left only tired. “I know some good cocktails,” Adam said pleasantly. “It’s on me, Agent Kennedy.”

Leon shut his eyes at the words, felt the last of himself break away and fall into the overwhelming nothing, leaving him only a shell, and was grateful for it. Part of him wished he hadn’t last the night. But then again, the last thing Leon wanted to do was cause Chris any more pain than they had already condemned themselves to. That was the only reason Leon kept going.


End file.
